CSI: A Fistful of Skeletons
by A Rhea King
Summary: The CSI are called to a crime scene where the victims look like two of their own. The secrets the case holds may unravel one's family, and threaten to destroy the other.
1. Chapter 1

**CSI: Crime Scene Investigators**  
**A Fistful of Skeletons **  
**By A. Rhea King**

**_Chapter 1_**

Nick had been on the stand for almost an hour. Through the D.A.'s questions and Nick's carefully chosen answers, he felt confident he had proven to the jury how the DNA test, trace, and ligature marks linked the defendant to the rape of seven women and attempted murder of four. He believed the man's lawyer, Nicola Corbet (all the CSI had lovingly nicknamed her Satan's Daughter), would never be able to find a hole in his testimony.

The D.A., satisfied with his line of questioning, gave Nick a nod and returned to his chair.

"Your witness," he told Nicola.

Despite his confidence, Nick braced himself. The woman got more criminals out of trouble than anyone he knew. She was cold without much of a personality – or so he'd been told. Nick wasn't inclined to hate people, but Nicola Corbet had made it to that very short list, and he'd never had the desire to get to know her.

"Nick Stokes," she said, as if she'd never met him before. She picked up something from her table. "You said you processed the DNA samples?"

"Yes."

"And why is that? Don't you have a DNA technician in the lab?"

"We do. She was backed up, so I processed them myself. I have processed DNA samples before."

"How many DNA samples do you process in a month?"

"I don't know. Thirty or so."

"And of those thirty or so, how many have led to inadmissible evidence?"

"I don't know."

"I do." She sat the paper down in front of him. "Can you read the highlighted number?"

Nick wanted to snap at her, but instead picked up the paper. "Twelve."

"That's the number of results this month that were determined inadmissible." She took the paper and returned to her table, picking up another sheet and delivering it to him. "These are the number of cases that your DNA specialist, Wendy Simms, has processed DNA material. How many of her results were determined inadmissible this month?"

Nick glanced at the number. "Four."

"Four in one month? Compared to your twelve?"

"There were circumstances surrounding why the results were considered inadmissible."

She pulled the paper from his hand. "I'm sure there was." She strolled back to her table, asking. "When was the last time, Mister Stokes, that you had a full eight hours of sleep?"

Nick wanted to groan. She was pulling this card again. How many cases had she won with this cheap blow?

"I don't know."

She picked up another piece of paper. She turned to face him and then leaned against the table. She was so smug.

"You don't know when you've slept?"

"I've slept enough."

"In the last seven days, how much is enough?"

"How is this relevant?" the D.A. demanded, rising to his feet.

The judge thought about the situation. "I'll allow it, but only briefly, Ms. Corbet."

Nick resisted letting out his sigh of irritation. It would help turn the jury toward her if they began to suspect he might be hiding something.

"Answer the question," the judge told Nick.

"I guess… I don't know." He did some mental math and the number wasn't good. "Maybe sixteen hours."

"I'd bet more like twelve, judging from your time card. You have worked four doubles, and two days you never clocked out. So unless you're cheating these fine tax payers out of money by claiming to be working when you're not," she motioned to the jury, "you never went home to get any sleep."

Nick didn't agree or deny the remark. He knew exactly where she was going with this.

Nicola sat the paper down and walked toward the jury, telling them. "I bet a lot of you have driven when you're tired. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to stay focused on the road? Accidents occur because of things like that." She turned to Nick. "And DNA samples are destroyed due to that fatigue, meaning that no matter how they've been run, they are inconclusive." She walked up to the stand, holding Nick's glare. "You said yourself earlier, Mister Stokes, that you couldn't recall how long you had the samples in the centrifuge. It makes me wonder… What else can't you recall doing with the evidence of this case?" She walked back to her table and sat down.

Nick looked at the D.A. He could see it in his face – she'd just cooked them.

#

Nick considered taking the steps as he walked down the hall to the elevator and tapped the button. But it was just a consideration. Unfortunately, Nicola had been right. He'd hardly had any sleep. Greg was gone, and this week had been fight night everywhere in Las Vegas. With his civil duty behind him, Nick was dreaming of his bed.

The doors opened and he stepped into the car.

"Hold it. Hold it please," he heard a woman call.

His weary brain reacted and he caught the door. He almost groaned when Nicola appeared. He reacted by trying to block her from getting on.

"This one's full," Nick snarled.

She pushed through the narrow gap he'd left, snapping, "Grow up!"

Nick pulled back. She leaned in front of him and tapped the button for the first floor.

"You always take these so personally," she commented. "It's just a job."

"No, Nicola, it isn't just a job. I work hard to prove these criminals you defend _are_ criminals, and then you pull stunts like that and let them walk. What if that guy had raped you? You'd probably have defended him anyway, wouldn't you?"

She glanced at him. "Geeze, Stokes. Let it go."

The door opened and she walked off. Nick followed her.

"Let it go? You are cold-hearted woman! It's no wonder you can't stay married. You divorced what, husband number four, last week?"

She stopped so fast he ran into her and turned, snapping a finger in his face. "That is none of your business. And for you information, I take these cases because I don't think CSI do as thorough of a job as they claim. You collect your evidence, do your tests, and then you claim you know they did it. If it weren't for me, people like my clients and brother would be sitting behind bars when they did nothing wrong!"

That only goaded Nick into taunting her. "Oh, I can't dig around in your marital life, but you can rip to shreds my career? I work hard to make sure I _don't_ put innocent people in jail. But at least we know one things now: you're doing this job as a vendetta for you supposedly wrongfully accused brother – who probably did everything the police say he did!"

Her face flushed. Nick resisted his smile of satisfaction – after ten years, he'd finally gotten under Satan's Daughter's skin.

And then she promptly disappointed him. "This is why you lose, Stokes. You take _everything_ personal. You need to be objective. Take some time off and get a grip. And next time you try to win an argument with me, leave out things you know nothing about."

She spun around and walked off.

"One day you're going to help the wrong criminal, Nicola," Nick warned her under his breath.

#

It was a pleasant evening in Las Vegas. A cold front had pushed down between the mountains and cooled the desert off for a mild evening. Nick was enjoying having the windows down for a change. Beside him, Sara was finishing off a Subway sandwich. She balled up the paper and then threw it his head.

"What's this I hear you and Nicola got into it in the middle of the courthouse?" Sara asked.

Nick groaned. "No, no. No. That made it to the lab? No wonder Catherine was so cool tonight."

She smiled. "Everyone is talking about it. Some even wish you'd slugged her."

"That would have landed me in jail."

"It would have been funny."

"Funny in what respect? Me in jail? Or her slugged?"

She sipped her soda. "That's a draw."

"You do know you have to go up against her tomorrow, don't you?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. A marathon match too. Three trials in one day. She must be desperate for work. Before you know it, she'll be chasing ambulances."

Nick smirked. "At least she'd be leaving us alone."

"We can only hope," Sara replied.

They turned a corner and saw the rotating lights a block down. The neighborhood they were in acted as a buffer between the higher end neighborhoods and the derelict poverty stricken ones.

Police cars and an ambulance were in front of was a single story, square whitewashed house with narrow steps leading up to the door. Nick parked the Denali; they collected their kits, and headed toward the front door. The officer at the door spotted them and quickly jogged to the bottom step. He held out his arms, stopping them.

"We were called here, Lance," Nick told him.

"I know. But you have to wait out here."

"Is it a drug house?" Sara asked.

"No."

"Is there a bomb?" Nick glanced back, looking for the bomb squad van.

"No. It's… Just wait out here. Brass will be out in a second."

"Lance, what's going on?

Lance made a wistful face. "Trust me, Nick, this is too weird. I can't even begin to describe to you how weird this is. I mean, seeing her and the guy… And then I was told you were coming, so I knew you weren't him, this is all weird. I just—"

"Man! You are making no sense. What the hell is going on in there?" Nick demanded.

Brass walked out and joined them.

"This is a weird one, Nick. Really weird," Brass said.

"For just Nick?" Sara asked.

Brass glanced at her. "No. It's going to be a really weird case for everybody. Nick, tell me about your brothers."

"My brothers?"

"Yeah. Tell me about them. Are they younger, older, twins?"

"Older. Why?"

"No one younger than you? You're the youngest, huh? No twins?"

"No twins and I'm the youngest. Why are you and Lance acting so strange?

"I'm just making sure we aren't going to have a conflict of interest." Brass flicked open his notebook, starting to talk before Nick could. "Neighbors called in about three hours ago after hearing gunshots. First unit arrived on scene. He said the front door was locked, but the back door was wide open. Went in and found the couple in the bedroom." Brass dug from a pocket a plastic bag with a clutch handbag to that he handed Sara. "Found this in the hall. Judging from the happy couple photographs in there, the guy lives here, and the woman is not his significant other. Judging from the content of that purse, she's probably a prostitute." Brass flicked the notebook shut. "Brace yourselves, guys. This is a very bizarre."

"Did they die some strange way?" Nick asked.

Brass was already walking back inside. "How they died is not what's freaking everyone out, Nicholas."

Nick looked at Sara. "Why'd he use my full name?"

She shrugged, walking inside. "Maybe he doesn't like you yelling at lawyers."

Nick followed, groaning, "Aw come on!" He told them, "The woman is a menace to society! And in my defense I was exhausted and couldn't control myself. Jim!"

He trailed behind them into a hall lined with pictures. Nick glanced at a couple until he realized something was off about them and stopped dead in his tracks. He pulled his flashlight from a pocket and shined it on the pictures. These were the wedding photographs Brass had mentioned. A man with his face posed next to a brunette that was almost a foot shorter than him. They were smiling at the photographer, standing in the arch of one of the wedding chapels on the strip. The only differences between him and the man in the photographs were a crew cut and a scar that ran down his temple to his jaw.

"Oh— Oh my God," Nick stammered.

From the bedroom he heard Sara cry out. "Oh… My God!"

Nick jogged down the hall and into the room. He stopped right behind her, staring.

Lying on the bed, naked and wearing only a condom, was the man from the photograph. Time had passed from the photographs till today, and his hair was cut in the same style as Nick's. Now the only distinguishing mark was the scar. He'd been shot in the chest to the heart and the neck through the jugular, injuries that would have bled him out in minutes.

On the floor at the end of the bed, staring at their shoes with glazed and empty eyes, was a naked woman. Her nude body was fit. Her skin was still creamy white. Her dark hair had matted in the blood that ran from the gunshot between her brown eyes. Had it not been for the fact they had both seen Wendy Simms several times before leaving for this call, the CSI would have been frantically trying to determine if the identical looking woman before them was Wendy.

David the coroner came trotting down the hall with a bag on one shoulder. "Sorry I'm late, guys." He pushed in and stopped in front of Nick and Sara. "Oh my God!"

"Oh my God," Brass unemotionally stated. "If I had a quarter for every time I've heard that tonight…"

#

Robbins turned when the morgue doors opened. Wendy had been running and stopped just inside the door, panting lightly.

"The guards told Henry who told Mandy who told me, that…" She shook her head a little. "Can I see her?"

Robbins knew whom she was referring to, but he thought about the question a moment before answering. "Are you a twin?"

Wendy shook her head.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

Robbins motioned her to follow, grabbed his cane, and walked toward the alcove. David was preparing the body for the autopsy.

"Take five, David."

He looked at him, then Wendy, and obeyed. Wendy stared at the body as she walked along the table toward the head. She had a few scars and a dimple on her hip. Freckles peppered her shoulders that had once been milky white but had taken on the ashen blue-gray of a corpse. Wendy stopped when she reached the head. The stranger's eyes were closed. Her hair was still wet from the bath David had given her. Wendy reached down, laying her hand on the woman's head. It was cold, but she'd expected that.

"Did she have any I.D.?"

"No. We don't know who she is. Sara told David the contents of her purse suggested she was a prostitute."

Wendy choked back a sob. "A prostitute? I'm not a prostitute!"

Robbins had been staring at the woman's face. He looked up at Wendy.

"_You're_ not?"

Wendy started crying. "I want to stay for the autopsy."

"No."

She looked up at him. "I've stayed before. I can—"

"This is different. I think it's a bad idea in this case."

"Please, Doc. Let me stay."

Robbins frowned, even when she looked up at him. He shook his head.

"I could bribe you. I'm sure I can find something."

He smiled. "Get back upstairs and help find who killed her."

Wendy took one last look at her reflection on the autopsy table, and then turned and headed for the door.

"Wendy," Robbins called.

She turned. He was standing right behind her.

"This woman here, this isn't you. Don't confuse that, okay? This isn't your life you're looking at here. This is someone else's."

"It could be. One day."

"Wendy, no. She—"

"Good night, Doc." Wendy left the morgue.

#

Nick heard Sara make a sound and then choke and cough a little. He was on the opposite side of the bedroom searching for evidence, or identification – whichever came first. He turned, catching her grin vanishing.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answered.

He smiled. "You were laughing about something. What?"

"Are you _sure_ you want to know? Are you _positive_?"

Nick looked at their faces and smiled. "Probably not, but hit me anyway."

"You heard David say the guy looked the same height as you. So then he measured the thigh and it turns out the guy is the same height as you."

"What's the punch line?"

Her grin turned ornery. "I was wondering what else on him the same length as you."

Nick almost didn't get it. And then he grinned and chuckled. "You are sick! Sick!"

"He was measuring things. It just happened!"

"Have you found anything that pertains to the case?"

"I have this." Sara pointed at a purse sitting in a chair in the corner.

"Is that the woman's?"

"No. I checked the I.D." She reached in and pulled out a wallet. "It belongs to an Alice Nolan." She showed him the driver's license.

Nick looked closer. "This is the same woman in the photographs in the hall. I'm assuming his wife from those photos out there. Hey, I haven't been able to find Jane Doe's clothes. Have you?"

"They aren't in here."

"I'm going to go look in the other rooms. Try to stay out of the gutter while I'm gone."

She laughed, telling him as he walked out, "I make no promises."

Nick started through the house in search of clothes. Instead he discovered a door to the basement in the kitchen pantry. He opened it and flicked the nearby light switch before slowly descending. The basement was unfinished and half the size of the house above it. On one side were the washer and dryer. On the other side was a desk covered with papers. But it was the photographs pinned to the wood beams that caught his attention. Nick walked up to them, holding his flashlight on them.

"Nick," Sara called out.

"Down here."

He heard her clamor down the steps.

"I couldn't find any identification on the man. No marriage license or even mail to him. Everything I found was addressed to Alice Nolan," Sara told him.

She joined Nick, looking over the photographs. "These must be him in high school and college."

"No. They're not." Nick pointed at the letter jacket on one. "That's my high school letter jacket. I was on the basketball and football junior and varsity teams and received these pins when we won regionals. These pictures are my college pictures: that's me with my fraternity brothers, and these are all homecoming pictures, all my dates… These child photographs are from newspapers. I won that soap box trophy, this is me in my boy scout troupe, this one with the fish has my dad in it, but he cut him out… Sara, these are all me."

Sara looked down at the papers work. She sifted through a few pieces and picked up one. "He has your birth certificate, Nick."

Nick took it. "This isn't mine."

"It has your name. Your middle name is Parker, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but that's not my last name, there's no father listed, and that's not my mom's name. Maybe he forged it. Could have been trying to steal my identity, I guess."

She looked up at him. "That is a really stupid thought."

"No it's not."

"Do you see any recent photographs of you here?"

"No."

"So he went to a plastic surgeon and said he wanted to look like you, and the surgeon randomly got it right."

"If we have software to age people, I'm sure a plastic surgeon does too."

"But why? Do you even know someone with the last name Nolan?"

"If I knew why, this case would be solved, wouldn't it?"

She laughed a little, and their momentary argument melted away. "I bet he's your twin."

Nick pretended to glower at her. "A twin I haven't known about for thirty-seven years? I doubt that's something my parents wouldn't have told me about."

"It's a lot more logical than he was trying stealing your identity and went so far as making himself look like you."

He grinned suddenly. "Wait. Did I just hear _bet_ come out of your mouth?"

A crooked smile crept onto her lips. "Yes."

He couldn't resist. Not when he was positive he had the upper hand. "Name your wager, sly."

She grinned. "You buy me breakfast the rest of the month."

"And if I win you come every Saturday to wash my truck."

"Deal."

Nick headed back upstairs, wearing a confident grin. This was the easiest bet he'd ever made.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2_**

Hodges turned the corner and down the hall saw Wendy sitting on a bench, staring into a coffee cup with a lost look on her face.

He stopped in front of her but she didn't appear to notice.

"Are you okay?"

Wendy looked up. She had this blank, distant look on her face, like she was seeing a stranger.

"There's a woman in the morgue that looks like me. She could be my twin."

"I'd heard about Nick's twin, but not yours."

She looked into her cup again.

"Do you know her? _Is_ she your twin?"

"No."

Hodges sat down next to her. "Are you sure? Were you adopted? Or—"

Irritated she exclaimed, "Hodges!"

He stopped asking.

Wendy shrugged. "She's just some Jane Doe that everyone will soon forget about."

"That's no good."

She looked oddly at him. "What's no good?"

"She has to have a name."

"We don't know what it is."

"Well she's not going to be called Jane Doe. I won't stand for that."

"We call all unknown fe—"

"We are going to call her something else."

"Like what?" Wendy asked her cup.

Hodges thought for a moment. He leaned in, laying his hand over her hand. She looked into his eyes.

"I'm going to go ask Catherine to change her name to Mindy Bimms. Just until we can find her real name."

Wendy brightened a little. "Really? You'd let me do that?"

He smiled, brushing some hair away from her face. "Yes. I'd do that for you. She deserves a proper name."

Wendy threw one arm around him, hugging him. "Thank you!"

Hodges smiled, holding her. It took him a few minutes to realize she'd begun crying. He took her cup and sat it on the floor before he held her tighter.

"Every time I see her face – what if I die like that? Shot and nameless?"

"That would never happen."

"It could."

"If you went missing, I'd never stop looking for you."

His promise made her cry harder.

#

Catherine looked up when Sara walked into her office. She sat down in a chair before her desk and smiled. The papers in her hand fluttered against her leg with a soft rustle. Catherine returned it the smile but only because she knew what Sara's meant.

"What do you want?" Catherine asked.

"So Ecklie's memo said that due to budget cuts we need a supervisor's approval to run DNA tests until further notice."

"Yes."

"Well," Sara sat the papers on the desk. "Meet Dean Parker Nolan."

"Dean Parker Nolan, huh?" Catherine picked up the papers, looking at the photograph of Nick's look-a-like paper clipped to the top. She thumbed through the rest of them. "Came from South Carolina, has a couple assaults, a B&E and a larceny, but those are from South Carolina. No warrants, never did jail time. Nothing major for twelve years, just a parking ticket in Austin, Texas. So far he looks as harmless as Nick. Why do you need a DNA test?"

"I have a hunch that his DNA might give me more to go with. Maybe he's done some crimes that he might have gotten away with. Something that might be worth killing him for."

"You're thinking drugs or guns?"

"I tracked down his last employer, a local HVAC company. The owner said he was a good employee, but he had to let him go because he couldn't pay him.. He and his wife have a mortgage on the house and I found a statement that said they're a month behind. That's enough to make a man do things he wouldn't ordinarily do. All the utilities and mail in the house, however, are in Alice's name. I find that a little curious."

"Nick can approve a DNA test. Why didn't you ask him?"

Sara grinned. "Well, you see, Nick thinks a DNA test is a waste of time. He thinks the guy's just a petty criminal and that a DNA test won't help. And, of course, there's also the… Bet."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "You two know the rule about betting on crimes."

"I only bent it. I know I'm going to lose."

"Do either of you even have a suspect in mind on this?"

"We're both leaning toward Alice right now. When we spoke to the neighbors, they said they got along with him and really liked him, but they had some stories to tell about the fights the two would get into. One even told us she stabbed him once, but he apparently didn't press charges. There was no record of it. Nick found she's been in every psychiatric hospital, clinic, and ward in the city. She's diagnosed as bi-polar and schizophrenic, and has her own rap sheet. It's a long list of assaults and battery. He spoke to her doctor and he said she hasn't been in to refill her medications for almost a month and she would have run out two months ago."

"So she might have fallen off the wagon and killed her husband and the hooker?

"Assuming she did it, yes. But I want to make sure Dean hasn't done something else that might have made him a perfect target. Especially since he looks like Nick."

"Did Robbins say he found any plastic surgery on him? I know when you two started the case Nick thought the guy had been trying to steal his identity."

"No plastic surgery. Mother Nature made Dean look like Nick. But he did have cancer. Doc said it wasn't advanced yet, but it was incurable. As long as Dean's been in town, Nick began to wonder if whoever killed Dean might have meant to kill him. He's going over his old cases now to see if anyone we should be concerned about has been released recently. I think Dean was pretty good at getting himself in trouble whether he looked like Nick or not."

"I'll approve the DNA test, on one condition. I don't want either of you to talk to anyone about this bet, including me."

"Deal."

They both looked at the door when Hodges came in saying, "Catherine, I want to talk to you about my request."

"Good evening to you, too, Hodges. How are you tonight?" Catherine asked.

"Fine. I spent all day reading handbooks and procedure manuals. Nothing in them indicates that while a deceased victim's identity is unknown that a name other than Jane Doe cannot be used."

Catherine heaved a sigh. "Hodges, I am _not_ changing this woman's name to Mindy Bimms."

Sara smiled. "Who are we talking about?"

"Your Jane Doe. Oh, by the way, I assigned her to Ray. Wendy's taking it pretty hard; I thought giving it some personal attention might help."

"Why is she taking it hard? Did she know her?"

"She says no. I think that whole staring at her own face, dead, is what's getting to her."

"Nick doesn't seem to care."

"Nick's a different person."

"That's why I want the name changed," Hodges said.

"Because Nick doesn't care?" Catherine asked.

Hodges shook his head. "No! Why would that matter?" He moved on without waiting for an answer. "It's because Wendy does. I think it would help Wendy if we could give this woman a little identity."

"How is Mindy Bimms better than Jane Doe?" Sara asked.

"It's a long story, but trust me, it is. Please, Catherine?"

Catherine's eyebrows lifted. "Did you just… Beg?"

Hodges tried to answer the question, but his blushing did a better job. The women laughed.

"Okay. Okay. For Wendy, I'll change the name. You should have started there, Hodges. That was much more convincing than that attempt you made earlier."

"Thank you. I can expect it to be changed promptly?"

"Soon."

"I'll let her know."

Hodges left. Catherine leaned over her desk.

"Do you think Hodges might know this Mindy Bimms?"

"Why do you ask?"

"She looks like Wendy, and you suspect she was a prostitute."

"Hodges? Cheat on Wendy? Never!" Sara got up.

"Cheat on her? Are they dating?"

"Doubt it. That would make things too easy on us. Just wishful thinking from them both. Still." Sara headed for the door. "Thank you for the approval, Catherine."

#

Hodges and Langston walked hooker to hooker, showing them pictures of Mindy Bimms and Dean Nolan. Wendy worked the opposite side of the street, asking if anyone knew someone who looked exactly like her. But all they were getting was headshake after headshake.

Wendy joined Langston and Hodges "I need a break. How about—"

"Bernadette?"

Wendy turned. A young Latino boy stood at the end of an alley, staring at her. Wendy cautiously approached him.

"Do you know a woman who looks like me?" Wendy asked.

He nodded. "You look like Bernadette."

Wendy smiled. "Can you tell me about Bernadette?"

"Sometimes she'd take me to the diner down a block and get me something to eat."

"Are you homeless?"

He didn't answer.

"Was Bernadette her real name?"

He shook his head.

"Did she ever tell you what her real name was?"

He shook his head. "We just called her Saint Bernadette. She told me that Saint Bernadette was a nun who lived a long time ago and helped people. I guess that's why we called her that."

"Can you tell me who else she helped?"

He glanced down a nearby alley. "Ask anyone down here. I gotta go."

He took off at a run down the street. Wendy started down the alley, trailed by Langston and Hodges. Hidden among the trash and in the shadows were vagrants, homeless people, the forgotten. In the dim light of the streetlights, it looked like the very shadows were alive, but they were only hulks of humans trying to etch out a meager existence. She stopped at the first person and began asking about Saint Bernadette. A lot of the people in the alley knew her, but no one knew her name.

One man told them, "She'd give me clothes some times. Nice girl." He snarled toward the street, at the other hookers. "Not like those tramps! She didn't hoard her money like they do."

Langston quietly commented, "It doesn't sound like she had a pimp."

Wendy mentally noted that and moved on. As she worked down the alley she discovered that Bernadette really was a saint. She used some of her money to buy these people clothes and food. When the money ran out, she was resourceful and found ways to take care of them. Wendy was beginning to see that the woman she'd pictured was not who Mindy Bimms really was.

It was the last person that had a story that piqued their interest.

"You should find Maureen," a woman told Wendy.

"Who's Maureen?"

"Don't know. Saint Bernadette spent the most of the time with her. Once, I even heard her call her mom. She took good care of that damned drunk, but the woman was a witch to her. We felt sorry. Hope that wasn't the little girl's mom. She didn't deserve someone like that. And as smart as Bernadette was, she should'a been doing something other than sleeping around for money. Smart as a whip."

"Do you know what Maureen looks like?"

"Black hair. Dirty. Can't tell you much else. After you get enough dirt on ya, you just look like everyone else down here."

Wendy looked around her. She could tell the different faces, but to someone not used to looking for differences, one homeless person looked like the next.

Langston handed the woman one of his cards. "Let me know if you see Maureen or remember anything else."

Wendy dug a handful of change from her pocket, putting it in the woman's hand. "Please call us."

Wendy and the men headed back up the alley.

"It sounds like the mother might have fallen on hard times and the daughter might have come to help her," Hodges commented.

"Maybe. We'll need to find Maureen to find out," Langston said.

#

Nick walked down the hall reading through a file in his hands. Without looking, he turned into the DNA lab.

"You wanted to see me Catherine?" he asked as he stopped. He looked up with a smile.

It faded when he found Wendy sitting on a stool crying silent tears. Catherine stood nearby, holding a box of tissues in one hand and papers in her other. Wendy took the box from her, saying something so quiet Nick couldn't make it out.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm pulling you off the Dean Nolan case," Catherine told him. "Is that the case file?"

Nick closed the file. "No. It's another case. Why are you pulling me off the Nolan case?"

"Did you know Sara requested a DNA test on Dean Nolan?"

"Yeah. I still think it was a waste of time. We got what we needed on his fingerprints."

"Well… It's a good thing she did." Catherine shook her head a little. "Or not." She hesitated. "The results are… Surprising."

Nick glanced at Wendy. "Surprising how?"

"Dean's DNA matches yours. He's your twin."

Nick laughed at the joke. "Catherine, I do not have a twin. I would know if I did, and I don't."

"Wendy ran the test four times, Nick." Catherine held the sheets out. "I can't have you working a case of someone you're related to, even if you've never met them."

Nick pulled the papers away and read them. He could feel his anger rising. It started in his legs and moved at a steady pace into his face.

"Nick?" Catherine said.

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

Nick glared at her – although the glare was intended for someone else. "I just found out I have a twin brother and my parents have lied to me for thirty-seven years." He threw the papers on the counter and walked out, adding, "I'm just great!"

Catherine turned to Wendy. The tears had stopped at least.

"Now you. What's going on, Wendy? Why are you upset about the Mindy Bimms results?"

She looked at Catherine. "We didn't get any hits on her." She started crying again. "We still don't know who she is."

Catherine put her arm around her, trying to comfort her even if she didn't understand why the lab tech was so upset by the lack of results.

"We haven't given up yet, Wendy. Hand in there."

#

Sara found Nick at the end of the top deck of the parking garage, sitting on the corner the guard wall with his feet dangling over the ground five stories below. She hated when he sat on ledges like that, but she admired his lack of fear. Sara leaned on wall, staring at the street under his feet. There were few people out in the early morning hours.

"Word's spread fast," she told him. "Wendy told Hodges, he told everyone."

"You won the bet, I guess."

Sara shook her head. "Forget the bet. That was just us joking around. You were convinced there was no relation, so I was too. I ran his DNA because I thought he might have done some larger crime that wasn't showing up on his record. I'm sorry, Nick."

"I'm not mad at you, Sara. You were just being thorough."

She looked across Las Vegas. She realized they were facing east and in an hour, the sun would start rising above the hills.

"His parents finally contacted me," Sara told him. "They are in Sydney and should be here in two days."

"Why didn't they adopt us both?" Nick whispered. "His parents or mine. Why did they split us up?"

"Maybe you should ask your parents."

He sat up straight like she'd smacked him. He looked at her. "Go get the case file. We're going to Texas." He swung his legs around and hopped off the wall, heading for the door.

Sara stood for a minute.

She trotted to catch up. "Nick… We can't go to Texas."

"My parents have information important to this case. We have to talk to them."

"Nick, we can't just go to Texas! Catherine will never—"

"We'll call her when we're there."

"We have no jurisdiction in Texas."

He stopped, staring at her. She wasn't sure what he was capable of doing right now but didn't move away.

"His parents are two days away; mine are three hours. And I don't need jurisdiction to grill my parents about keeping a secret from me."

"Let's just wait for Dean's parents."

"I'm not pissed at Dean's parents."

She heaved a sigh. "So this is a personal vendetta, not actual evidence collection?"

"For me, yes; for you it could be evidence. So anything I find out without you present you can't use." He started walking again. "I'm going to Texas. You want to come, fine. You want to wait and talk to Dean's parents, that's fine too."

She looked out across Las Vegas. Sara turned and followed him. They could be in Texas in three hours, and they might be able to figure out who murdered Nick's twin sooner.

"We're telling Catherine before we leave, Nick. At least can you do that?"

"Make it quick. I'll wait out front for twenty minutes."

Sara jogged to catch with him.

#

Wendy trotted up to Langston. He was looking at something through the microscope.

"Yes, Wendy?" he asked.

"How… How did you know who I was?"

"Your shampoo has a very distinct smell of lilac. You're the only woman in the lab that uses it."

She smiled. "Oh. Hey, I was wondering if you'd tried her prints in the international database."

He glanced at her. "I have not."

"Oh. Well, could you?"

He smiled. "No. I have to finish this trace sample first. But I would appreciate it if you could do it for me."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Can I run her DNA profile through the other databases too?"

"Wendy," Langston stood up. "I would appreciate any help you could give me on Mindy Bimms' case. Just don't take the initiative to interview to anyone. I have to do that."

"I won't. Thank you, Doctor Langston."

He nodded once with a smile. She turned and trotted away. Across from him Henry appeared from behind a gas chromatograph.

"I thought you said the case was a dead end?"

Langston turned back to the microscope. "No. I said that I had reached a dead end. But I'm open to any avenue of assistance I can get."

"You never ordered a tox screen on her."

"We have no reason for one."

"Yes, but it might be helpful."

Langston pulled his head back and smiled. "Henry, why don't you go run a tox screen for me?"

He jumped up and left to do that.

Langston chuckled a little and went back to work.

#

Jillian and Bill Stokes walked into the restaurant together. The hostess greeted them with a smile.

"Hello, Judges Stokes. Nick's here, back at your usual table."

"Thank you," Bill said and the two wove their way through the room.

Several regulars and waitress greeted them with a smile. The Stokes had come here for years and they knew most of the family.

At the back in a corner booth sat Nick and Sara. The couple stopped at the table.

"Good morning," Jillian said. "We were surprised to get your call, Nicholas. How are you doing?"

Nick didn't reply. He didn't look up from the spot he was glaring at on the table.

Jillian glanced at Bill. He made a slight head nod toward the opposite side of the booth. The two slid into the booth. Jillian held out her hand to Sara.

"Jillian Stokes."

Sara shook it. "Sara Grissom."

"Grissom… Doesn't he work at your lab?"

"He did. He's my husband."

She noticed the raised eyebrows on both parents.

"We're here about a case we hope you can help us with."

"A case in Las Vegas?" Bill asked.

"Yes." Sara pulled the Dean Nolan case file from her bag. Before she could even get it to the table Nick took it from her.

He pulled out the six eight by ten glossy photographs of Dean at the crime scene and morgue and slapped them down on the table.

"Nick—" Sara began

"Explain this," Nick ordered his parents.

A waitress came up to the table. Only Sara acknowledged her.

"We aren't ready," Sara told her.

The waitress started to reply.

Bill reached inside his jacket pocket, took out his wallet, and thrust a $50 at her. "We need the table."

She took it and walked away.

"Where did you get these?" Bill asked.

"Where the hell do you think we got them, dad? Does Dean _look_ alive?"

Jillian's head popped up at the mention of the name. Bill didn't react.

"He's the victim in a case you're investigating?" Bill asked.

Nick didn't answer.

"Yes," Sara answered.

Bill picked up the morgue photograph, looking at the face. Sara noticed a couple of tears drop down Jillian's face. She looked at her husband. Sara looked at Bill. Nick never looked away. Bill slowly sat the photograph down.

The man drew a deep breath and looked his son in the eye. "I'm sure you've come across situations like this in your work. I know I have."

"Dad, you're stalling."

Bill smiled a little. "You should have stayed here, in Austin. Stayed close to us."

"Now you're avoiding," Nick snarled.

"There's no proof he's related to you. With plastic surgery, anyone could—"

Nick pulled the DNA tests from the folder and slapped them in front of Bill. "Dad, there is a one in a fifty-thousand chance someone has similar DNA as me. That number doubles, maybe triples, when you take into account this man also looks just like me. Which leaves us with the more logical and reasonable explanation: this man is a twin brother who, in my thirty-seven years, you and mom never told me about. I want answers, dad. I want to know who this guy is and I want the truth!"

No one spoke for several minutes.

"I've heard so many people say 'it's complicated' in situations like these. They draw out some long winded story about how this happened and that happened." Bill paused.

Nick jumped into the pause. "Is that what you're doing now? Telling me how complicated this is? How you and mom abandoned my brother over me?"

Bill looked at the photographs, shaking his head. "No."

"We adopted you because you wouldn't stop crying," Jillian quietly told Nick.

Everyone looked at her. She was playing with a spoon, or perhaps staring at her reflection in the back of it.

"I wouldn't stop crying?" Nick asked.

She nodded. "I was working a pro bono case for the state. This horrible man tried to poison his family; he killed his wife, but the children survived. They were in foster care and I was building the case. I went to the foster home to interview to them. The woman had these three and two babies – one of them was you. You were crying and crying. I finished with the children's interviews and asked her what was wrong with you. She said five days ago your brother and older sister had been adopted and you hadn't stopped crying since." She smiled at the spoon, perhaps seeing the memory in it. "I asked if I could hold you. You quieted right down for the first time in five days. And your eyes, Nicholas… You were so alert. It's no wonder you knew he was gone. So I talked with your father and we adopted you, our last child." She looked up at him. "There has never been a reason to tell you about the adoption, Nick."

Under his breath Bill muttered, "Till he came along."

"Till who came along?" Nick asked Bill.

"If your brother had been there…" Jillian hesitated. "I think about that day sometimes. If you hadn't been crying, I never would have noticed you. Our family wouldn't be the same, and neither would you. That's just the way God arranged things, honey. He made sure I noticed you to bring you into our lives."

Sara watched Nick's glare harden. He looked like he wanted to jump across the table and strangle his mother. Instead his hands clenched into fists.

"God didn't keep this secret from me, mother. _You_ did. And now half of that secret is lying dead in a morgue in Las Vegas. Did Dean come here looking for me?"

The two didn't answer.

"Was Dean Parker Nolan looking for me?"

Jillian burst into tears. Bill's face tensed.

"God damnit! He was, wasn't he? And you two knew and you kept that from me too! What the hell is wrong with you two?"

"Don't you use His name in vain, Nicholas," Bill snapped.

"Don't use… Are you fucking kidding me?" Nick laughed out of anger. "You never tell me that I was adopted, that I have a twin, and now I even find out I have a sister I didn't know about, and all you can do is lecture me about using God's name in vain!" He stood up suddenly. "I gotta… I'll be at the airport, Sara. I can't talk to these people anymore!"

He stormed off, leaving Sara with the devastated couple.

She collected the photographs and printouts, put the folder back together, and slid it into her bag.

"We never asked about his brother and sister. I can't tell you anything about them, Sara," Jillian said. Sara looked up. Jillian added, "And I don't know if Dean was looking for him."

Sara looked up, finding the woman staring at her. She looked at Bill.

"What about you, sir? You said 'till he came around.' What did you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure about that?"

Bill looked at her. "We love, Nicholas. We do these things to protect him."

Sara shook her head. "I am not your ally, Mr. and Mrs. Stokes. I think what you did is wrong. You think you were protecting him by keeping this all secret, but you weren't. You were just being selfish." Sara pulled herself out of the booth and stood. She reached in a pocket in her bag and sat her card next to Jillian. "Keep this in mind: Dean's killer is still at large, that person may not know they actually killed him, and they may mistake Nick for him. We've all seen how deadly family secrets can turn out; in this case, your secrets could cost you a son."

The two looked up at her.

"Sleep well on that thought tonight." Sara tapped her card and walked away. "Call if you suddenly remember details about when you last spoke to Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3_**

"Hodges," Sara said.

He turned, watching her come through the opposite door.

"Yes?"

"I'm off to an interview with Dean Nolan's parents. When I'm done, you're going to the Nolan house with me. We need to go back and see if anything can tell us where Alice Nolan might be."

Hodges stood up. "W-We? You and me? Why me?"

Her cell phone beeped to alert her to a text message. She read it and headed for the door.

"Because Nick can't and I want a fresh pair of eyes."

"What about Ray?" Hodges asked.

She stopped, looking back at him. "He's working the Mindy Bimms case. For Wendy. Remember?"

"Well Greg—"

"Greg is gone until next Monday. It's either you or Wendy. What's it going to be? And you know what shape she's in right now."

Hodges mouthed a few replies. "Text me when we're leaving."

She left. Hodges turned back to his work with a heavy sigh. Oh the things he did for love!

#

Nick had been tempted to watch Sara's interview with Dean Nolan's parents. He even made it to the observation room. But then she brought them in.

Derek Nolan was a short, rotund, balding man. He looked a lot like Danny Devito. He wore the world's ugliest suit, and mentioned he was a plastic surgeon. His wife, Monica Nolan, was a fake blond with lots of jewelry. She wore tight clothes that no woman her age should wear and a shirt cut low to show off her husband's handiwork

Nick walked out. If these were Dean's parents, it was no wonder he ended up dead in Las Vegas. He turned his attention to cases he'd been neglecting since the DNA results blindsided him.

He dabbed a swab in a substance he'd collected in a jar, snipped it off into a test tube with a solution, and slipped it into a centrifuge. He set the timer and then leaned against a counter while he waited.

His mind began to drift. It went over the conversation with his parents. It recalled the emails and phone calls from the brothers and sisters he grew up with. Apparently his parents told them truth after Nick left, and now everyone was worried about the baby of the family. Everyone wanted him to forgive his parents and come home and be a family again. Nick knew they couldn't understand what he was going through.

He looked across the lab. Wendy was working in the DNA lab. She was probably the only person he knew that could grasp what he was going through. Nick would have to talk to her when this was all over, but for now… Nick stood up and started working on more evidence.

For now he needed to stay busy.

#

Sara left the interview room with the Nolan's following her. They turned at the corner and headed down the hall.

"When can we see our son?" Monica asked. She had a strong South Carolina accent that accentuated words that didn't need accented.

"Are you okay identifying the body tonight?" Sara asked.

"Yes," the couple answered.

Down the hall Catherine and a lab tech came around the corner. Catherine looked down the hall at Sara and the Nolan's. Sara saw her, but didn't say anything. Suddenly Catherine stopped walking and looked to her left. Sara's eyes followed.

Nick was standing near the window, reading printouts. He was oblivious to anything else. Sara suddenly stopped in front of the two.

"You know… Let's go this way," she said, motioning down the hall. "I forgot they're cleaning down here."

The couple turned and for a moment Sara thought disaster was avoided.

Then Monica stopped. Sara and Derek both looked at her. She was staring at her husband with wide eyes. Color faded from her face.

"Ma'am?" Sara said.

She slowly turned and stared at Nick.

"Honey?" Derek said with a mellow South Carolina drawl. He hadn't seen Nick yet.

Monica didn't move or take her eyes off the man that could have been her son.

"Monica?"

"Who…" Monica couldn't get past that word.

Derek looked down the hall at Catherine. She started toward them. It was a matter of seconds before Derek saw Nick too and she was preparing for the worst.

Derek looked around for this mysterious 'who' that had terrified his wife. It took him a few glances around to find Nick.

He let out a scream. And fainted.

#

If anyone had walked into Catherine's office, there was no way they would have ignored the tension.

The Nolan's sat on the couch close to one another, their hands tightly wound around each other's. They stared at Nick. He sat across from them, staring back.

The door opened and Catherine came in with a gel icepack. She jiggled it some more, making sure she'd activated it all the way through, and handed it to Derek. He took it and pressed it against his head, but didn't take his eyes off Nick.

"He was looking for you," Derek said.

Nick nodded. "From what was found in the basement of his house, I gathered that."

"No…" Monica said, shaking her head. "I don't think you understand… What is your name?"

"Nick."

"Nick? Or Nicholas? Nicholas Parker?" She looked hopeful. Should he be too?

"Nicholas Parker Stokes."

She smiled. Her face was too old or had too much plastic in it to show how real the smile was.

"When we adopted Dean his name was Parker Nicholas."

"Why did you separate us?"

"Oh… We didn't separate you, honey. Heaven's no! When we adopted Dean and his sister, we were their second mama and papa. You weren't with them, sweetheart, but if you'd been we would have adopted you too." She smiled from memory. "It was the way he looked at me that just stole my heart. He was only two but he looked like he knew every secret in the world."

"My mom said something like that about me. So Dean has a biological sister?"

"Yes. Patricia. We kept her name because she was older and wanted to keep it. And she's your sister too, Nick."

"And you are their second parents?"

"Yes.

Catherine's desk phone rang. She got up and answered it.

"Willows." She drew a slow breath. Nick knew that breath. Something else had gone wrong tonight. "I'll be right there."

Catherine left the room.

"You said I didn't understand before when I said I knew he was looking for me. What did you mean?"

"Dean found out he and his sister were adopted by accident. When he was seventeen he decided he was going to get his driver's license come hell or high water." She smiled. "Well… We kept all his paperwork together and it had his original birth certificate. We wanted to tell him after graduation so he'd stay focused on school, but there was no going back. Dean was sort of…"

"A flake," Derek said. He smiled a little. "That sounds mean, but it's not. He didn't want anything to do with sports, loved reading, and could do any math in his head. But he was also a dreamer. He was always trying to invent something that never worked."

"We would have gotten along, it sounds like," Nick said. "So what happened when he found out?"

Monica shook her head a little before answering. "He decided we wasn't his family and left to go find his family. But that didn't turn out so well. He came back and got his GED. But he never stopped looking for his family. Then…" She shook her head. Tears started welling up. "Then Dean was diagnosed with cancer of the liver about two years ago. The doctor gave him five years. He became single minded on finding his family. He went to Austin and finally found papers about you three's birth mother. He tracked down someone related to you – your pa – and tried to connect with you."

"Dean screwed it up, though," Derek said. "He wasn't always the most sensible person you could know."

"Derek, he didn't mean to," Monica said.

"He screwed it up."

"He could have handled it better, sure, but he meant well."

Nick interrupted the argument. "How did he mess things up?"

"He asked for money," Derek answered.

"From my dad?"

Derek nodded. "He'd spent all he had to get to Austin, get the paperwork, and then find your pa. He found out you were in Las Vegas and he needed to get there. We didn't have it at the time, so he asked your pa."

"How did he finally get to Las Vegas? I'm sure my dad didn't help him."

"No. His sister ended up helping him. She's a lawyer, and the two of them never really were close, but she helped him get here. Said that's all she would do. She wasn't helping him find you. She was never interested in finding her biological family, said she was happy with the family she had."

"So Dean and Patricia didn't get along?"

"Well, not like your question implies, no," Monica answered. "They were brother and sister. They had their differences. But she loved her little brother. That's why she helped him get here."

"Did either of you ever meet his wife?"

"Alice. Not directly. We only spoke to her on the phone a few times. We never ventured out here to see either of our children. They always came home to see us. At least Patty did."

Nick got up and retrieved a small notepad and pen from Catherine's desk. "Could I get Patricia's address and phone number?"

The two fell silent. They almost looked ashamed.

"You two don't know where she lives, do you?"

"Like my wife said," Derek told her. "We never ventured out here to see them. We have emails addresses and phone numbers. That's all."

"That will be enough. Do you know if Dean had any enemies?"

Derek and Monica shook their heads.

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your son?"

They shook their heads.

The door opened and Catherine stepped in. Following her was Nick's mother, Jillian. Nick rose, staring at her. She glanced at the Nolan's before looking at Nick.

"What are you doing here, mom?"

"This is your mama?" Monica stood up, smiling as best as her plastic face allowed. She held out her hand. "Oh it's so wonderful to meet you."

Jillian shook the hand, but was quick to pull away. She moved closer to Nick when Derek stood.

"Miss," he said with a single nod.

"Do you mind identifying Dean now?" Catherine asked the Nolan's.

"Yes. I'd like to see my son," Monica said. She stepped up to Nick.

From the corner of his eye he saw his mother's face tense. She didn't like this woman being so close to her baby boy. Monica took his hand in hers.

"Do you want to know more about Dean, Nick?"

Nick nodded. For the case, he told himself.

"Let's plan on sitting down to some lunch tomorrow. Would that work? I can call you." She let go to start digging in her purse.

"We should meet here. The case is still pending and anything else we talk about Sara or Catherine need to be present."

"But lunch would be a good—"

"Monica," Derek interrupted, "he's a policeman. We have to keep this professional, honey."

"Oh. Of course. I'm sorry. I look at your face and…" Tears started welling up again. "I'm sorry." She waved her hand in front of her face and rushed out.

Derek and Nick shook hands, and he left with Catherine.

Jillian walked over to a chair and sat down, hugging her purse. Nick sat back down in his chair but he didn't look at his mother.

"Nick, I—"

"I need you to leave, mom."

She stared at him. "You weren't exactly a baby when we adopted you. You were about a year, just learning to talk."

"Mom…" Nick closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I really need you to—"

"You called him Datrick and your sister Atty. You couldn't pronounce the P." She reached in her purse and pulled out a small blue teddy bear. She held it out to him. "This was all that we saved from the things you had. After a year you called it Datrick and then, one day, you just stopped."

Nick took the teddy bear, looking at its face.

"I don't remember any of that."

"I didn't think you would. I just want you to know that if we could have adopted all three of you, we would have. We would have loved them too."

Nick didn't speak. She laid her hand on him and he resisted recoiling. This was his mother. He couldn't offend her like that. She deserved some respect, despite the lie. That thought made him pull his arm away.

"You and dad lied to me, to all of us kids. You should have told us."

"There wasn't any point, Nick. And—"

He looked at her. "Yes. There was a point. You don't lie to your children."

"We never lied. We just didn't tell you. You never asked."

Nick snarled, "That may work in court, mother, but in families, you know damn well that's bullshit."

"Don't speak like that to me!"

Nick stood up, clutching the teddy bear. "Go home. When I'm ready to speak to you two again, I will."

Her anger dissolved. "And how long will that be?"

"I don't know, mom! You've never lied to me about something this big before! Or hid it or not told me or whatever you want to tell yourself."

She sighed, looking somewhere else in the room. She stood, sliding her purse on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Nicholas. I—"

"Stop it," Nick snapped.

She looked up at him.

"You don't have any right to make me feel guilty, mother. You told us never to lie, and then you turned around and told all of us kids a huge lie about me. I won't feel guilty because _you_ were a hypocrite."

"Is your life so bad because you didn't know?"

"No." Nick found a smile. "I love my life, mom. I couldn't imagine it any other way. But I should have known I was adopted before, by an act of God, my murdered twin ended up in my morgue and his DNA test proved we were related! Do you have any idea how I feel? Any at all?"

A soft "No" escaped.

"I don't know if I should have feelings or not. He and I came from the same egg. We had the same birth mother. And he was looking for me. His parents said he asked dad for the money so he could get to Las Vegas to find me. Dad left that part out. As usual."

"Your father was just trying to protect you."

"When am I old enough that I don't need you and dad's protection anymore! ?"

They stared at each other. She stepped forward and lifted a cautious hand up, pressing it against his cheek.

"We always want to protect you, Nicholas. You're our son. That's why we never wanted you to leave."

He held her hand to his cheek for a moment, and then pulled it away. "I appreciate the sentiment, mom, but that's exactly why I left Texas. Everyone in the family was always trying to do what was best for me. I couldn't take it anymore. And now, I need you to go back to Texas and let me find my own way through this."

She nodded. "Before I go, could I see him?"

"Why?"

"I just want to see him."

Nick felt suddenly defensive. He felt like Dean was his – if one could own the body of a man they never knew. He didn't really want to share this with his family.

"It's against policy. I can't—"

"Please let me see him, Nick. I know you can."

Nick looked at the teddy bear in his hands. He drew a deep breath, letting the moment hang while he tried to figure out why he didn't want his mother to see Dean. He turned and walked to the door. At the door he opened it, and stopped.

"No. I am not ready to share this with you or the rest of the family."

"Nicholas, I just—"

"Mother, I am not arguing with you! You lied to me. You and dad both lied to me, and I have not come to terms with that, let alone this part of my family I know nothing about!"

The two stared at one another.

"I'm angry with you, mom, and I need you to go home. Please. Go home."

She looked around the office. Was she looking for something that might help her win her argument to stay? Jillian walked up to him, rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

"I've always loved you, Nicholas. You'll always be my son."

She walked out of the office. Nick inhaled a deep breath and let it out. He walked over to the couch and sat down on it, sinking down as far as it allowed him. His head was spinning from all this new information.

His cell phone went off. He looked at it and flew off the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4_**

Maureen looked like hell twice over. Her clothes had cost hundreds of dollars and at one time someone could have recognized that. Now they were dirty rags hidden beneath a mangy fur coat.

Carrying a folder, Langston entered the interview room and was hit by the stench of vomit, urine, and body odor. He used his mouth to draw a deep breath and motioned the officer to leave. Langston sat down in the chair across the table from her. The woman had her head on the table with her face buried in a smelly fur sleeve.

"Maureen?" Langston said.

"Go away," she muttered.

"I can't. I need to talk to you. Can you please sit up?"

She lifted her head, glaring at him. "I didn't do anything wrong. Why are you harassing me?"

"I'm not harassing you, Maureen. This is the first time we've met."

She stared at him, then scowled and laid her head on her arm, staring across the room.

"Would you like some water? Coffee? Something to eat?"

"I want my scotch back. The officer took it before he threw me in his car."

"Did he really throw you in?"

She looked at him again. Langston smiled, which was hard to do since he really didn't want to breathe through his nose and smell anymore of the rancid air.

"You're not a cop."

"No. I'm a forensic scientist. I'm trying to identify this woman." Langston took a photograph from the folder and placed it on the table before her. "I was told she's called Saint Bernadette."

Maureen picked up the photograph, looking at the photograph. It was of the woman lying in the morgue. She touched the photograph and then sat it down.

"She's dead, isn't she?"

"Yes she is."

Maureen slid it across to him. She laid her head on her arm.

"I was told she called you mom," Langston said.

"She called me Mon. M-o-n."

"Why?"

"It was a nickname derived from my name."

"I see. Do you know what her real name was?"

Maureen shook her head. "Saint Bernadette. I don't know how that got started, but that's what we called her. She was sweet, even when I wasn't."

"I'm told you're not very nice."

Maureen sighed. "I lost everything in the recession. My job, home. When the money ran out, so did my husband. My dog even ran away."

Langston put a photograph of Dean on the table.

"Did you ever see this man around Saint Bernadette?"

"Yeah." Maureen nodded. "He was one of her regulars. He came every Friday night. She said usually he just took her to a movie or dinner so they could talk. Sometimes they had sex. She liked the guy – as a client and all. She said he was a good man."

"So he did pay her?"

Maureen shrugged. "I don't know. She said he was a client. I guess so."

"Did you see him two weeks ago? It would have been a Friday."

"Yeah. He drove me to the shelter that day and they left together."

"Did he do that often?"

"If she asked him to he would. I think he had a crush on her, but he was married." Maureen tapped her left ring finger. "He wore the proof."

"What else do you remember about her?"

"She said she worked for me."

"Where did you work?"

Maureen sat up, leaning against the back of her chair. "Taggard Enterprises."

Langston knew it. The company was an electronics company that closed suddenly when it was announced they had been in debt for the last five years. The local television stations and newspapers had been rabid with the company, despite there being no conspiracy. The CEOs had held out as long as they could in hopes the economy would pick up and their employees could keep their jobs.

"What did you do there?"

"I was VP of international marketing and sales." Maureen closed her eyes. "I can barely remember that life. Parties, clothes, people I thought were friends…"

"I'm sorry you've fallen on such hard times, Maureen. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

She looked up at him. "She said she was an assistant to the assistant of the CFO. I can give you their names, but I doubt you'll find any of them. Everyone from that company seems to have disappeared."

"But I can try." Langston slid a pad of paper and pen to her.

"I could really use a shower and some food."

Langston smiled. "That sounds like a fair trade to me, Maureen. I'll arrange it."

Maureen picked up the pen and started writing.

The officer stepped back into the room. "Doctor Langston, Catherine is trying to reach you. It's urgent."

Langston looked at his cell phone, bringing up the latest text message. He jumped up, hurrying toward the door.

"When she's done, make sure she gets her a shower and a good meal," Langston paused to point at the notebook. "And see that notebook gets to my desk."

#

The brakes locked when Nick jammed his foot against the pedal. His Denali stopped inches from the bumper of a radio car. Nick jumped out, not bothering to turn off the engine or close the door. At the front of the line were officers with guns aimed at the square whitewashed house. Catherine and Langston stood behind them.

"Who's inside?" Nick asked.

"Sara and Hodges," Catherine answered. "They'd come back to see if they could find out where Alice might have gone. She was home and surprised Hodges in the kitchen. Sara went into try talking to her and she took her hostage too."

"Any contact with her yet?"

"No," Langston answered. "She won't answer the phone."

Nick looked at the house. "Has anyone told her Dean is dead?"

"Sara was going to tell her," Catherine answered.

"So she may not know. We could use that to our advantage."

Nick and Catherine looked at each other.

"No. Nick, no."

Nick tilted his head. "Catherine, I am probably the only person that can get close to her."

An officer nearby turned, taking interest in the conversation.

"You know I'm right, Catherine."

"You have no idea how he behaved. You could mess up and get everyone killed."

"I believe I can pull this off."

"This will end messy if we try anything else, Catherine," the officer told her. "And your CSI could be caught in the middle of it."

Catherine looked up at Langston. He shrugged a little.

"Not without a vest," Catherine told him.

"And I have a plan with that, too."

Catherine sighed.

#

Hodges was trembling so hard Sara could feel it through the loveseat. She wanted to tell him to stop, but knew it was involuntary. Alice paced the living room, talking to herself.

"Alice?" Sara said.

She glanced at her.

"Alice, what is it you want the police to do? They're going to want to know."

Alice didn't answer. Sara was about to speak again when the front door cracked open.

"Alice?" someone said. "Honey?"

She spun to face it, her eyes wide and a smile spreading across her face. The door pushed open a little more and Nick came inside.

"DEAN!" She ran to him, throwing her arms around him, and waving the pistol during it.

Nick looked at Sara, then Hodges.

"Ni—" Hodges began, but Sara smacked his stomach hard, knocking the window out of him.

She shot him a glare when he looked at her.

Alice turned, staring at them. She looked at Nick, then at Sara. She pulled back, looking back at Nick.

"She just walked into our house, Dean." She waved her pistol at the CSI on the loveseat. "And I found him digging through our kitchen cupboards. Who are they, Dean? Why are they here?"

"I sent them here."

She turned back to him. Her finger twitched on the hammer of the pistol.

"To pick up something for me," Nick added.

"Where have you been? I thought… I thought I killed you the other night when I caught you with that woman. I thought I shot both of you."

"No. I was mad. I didn't want to come back. I sent them here to get my things. But when I came to find out what was taking so long, and saw all those police out there, I asked them if I could come in and talk to you." Nick looked out the window, staring as if he was thinking about the situation. He turned his head, looking her in the eye.

She smiled and pressed her hand against his face. "Let's just sneak out and run, baby. I haven't done anything wrong. She was just a whore."

Nick shook his head. "I think we should talk to them. Explain what happened."

"No." She dropped her hand. Her thumb twitched on the hammer again.

"It was an accident. You didn't mean to kill her, did you?"

Alice looked to the side.

"Alice?"

She looked up. "I wanted to kill both of you. I was angry. You promised that you wouldn't see her anymore. And then I found you in bed with her _again_.

Nick reached out and laid his hand on her face. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

Hodges cleared his throat. Sara shot him a death glare. He looked away when Alice glanced at him.

"I have to use the restroom," Hodges muttered.

"They don't look like anyone you'd know," Alice told Nick.

"You know everyone I do, huh?" Nick took her wrist, pulling her close. He wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling when she looked at him.

"No. I guess not."

Nick smiled, resting his forehead against her's. "Okay. We'll sneak out and run." He slid his hand down her other arm, his fingers slowly closing around the gun handle. "Anywhere you want, honey."

She laughed, pulling her head back and coming close to kissing him. Nick pulled back, but he never stopped smiling.

"I missed you," Alice told him.

Nick's fingers slowly worked under her's until he almost had a grip on the handle. He started to pull it away.

"I missed you too," he told her.

She pulled back suddenly, taking the gun with her. "We can go to Cabo. I've always wanted to go there."

Nick almost paused too long. Sara could see he was frustrated he hadn't gotten the gun away from her.

"Alice, let's just go," Nick said. He took a step back toward the kitchen. "Come on, honey." He held out his hand to her.

She smiled, taking it. "We can't just leave them. They're guests!"

Nick pulled her back into his arms and began to slowly work his way toward the kitchen with her.

"Cabo will be beautiful," Alice told him.

"Yes it will."

"You can get a fishing boat and I'll make things to sell."

"Yes," Nick answered. He smiled again.

Sara never realized how well he could fake a genuine smile until now. It made her wonder how many times he had for her.

The curtains in the front of the room didn't cover a section of the front window. As they stepped into that area, red dots quickly focused on them, and then on Alice. Nick saw them, but said nothing. He should have.

Alice saw them and stopped, watching them dance across her body. She looked at Nick's face, and then down – noticing they weren't focused on him. She took three large steps back behind the curtain and aimed the gun at him, cocking it.

"Honey?" Nick questioned.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Dean."

"No… No you're not. You're being way too nice. He hasn't talked about Cabo in months. And those police aren't aiming at you. You're that twin he's obsessed with!"

"You're saying I'm not Dean? Your husband?"

Nick took small, slow steps toward her.

"That I don't sound like him? I don't look like him?"

"You don't act like him."

"You shot me. Of course I don't."

She blinked. The answer stunned her.

"Are you a ghost?"

"When I held you, did it feel like I was?"

The gun was slowly starting to drop, but she hadn't swallowed the lie yet.

"You don't act like my husband!"

"When was the last time I did?"

She started crying. "I… Can't remember."

"I'm trying to start over here, Alice. I don't know what else to do. We are so screwed up but I still love you. I'm trying to do what's best for us."

Alice started crying harder. It was difficult for her to aim at Nick when she shook with her sobs.

"I killed that woman and I know I killed you too."

"But I'm standing here. How could you have?"

Alice backed away from him. She lifted the gun back up. "You're his twin brother. That Nicholas guy he was always looking for. You aren't Dean. Stay away from me!"

Nick stopped moving. "Fine. I'll leave. I'll leave you all alone." He turned and started toward the door.

The gun went off and the bullet hit the door. Nick stopped, looking back at her.

"Do you hate me that much?" Nick asked.

"I love you, Dean."

"Then why are you doing this Alice?" Nick turned and stormed up to her. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it against his chest, into the Kevlar jacket hidden under his jacket. "If you hate me so much, shoot me. Right now. Get this over with. Because you either love me and you'll let me help you, or you hate me and you'll kill me."

"I don't…"

"What? What is it, Alice? What the hell do you want from me?"

The gun went off again. The bullet hit the jacket with such force that Nick fell backward and hit the floor hard. Blood began flowing from the gunshot. Nick looked up Sara, meeting her eyes, and then glanced at Alice.

"What have you done?" Sara asked. "God, Alice, what have you done?"

Alice was trembling, holding onto the gun by the finger loop. Sara grabbed it from her and handed it back to Hodges. He held it in both hands with a death grip.

"Go get towels! Hurry!"

Alice ran off to obey. Sara turned to Nick, who, for having lost as much blood as he had, didn't look it.

"What the hell are you doing, Nick?" Sara whispered.

"I'm going to die now. Talk her into leaving out the back. They're waiting," Nick whispered and then played dead.

"What… Uh…" Hodges started.

"Sit there and don't speak, Hodges," Sara snarled.

Alice came running into the room with towels. Sara looked up at her.

"He's dead. You killed him."

Alice clutched the towels in her hands to her chest.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to."

"You think the police will believe that? You've killed two people now, Alice. You had better run. They will not be sympathetic over this."

Alice dropped the towels and ran through the house and out of the kitchen right into police waiting for her.

#

Nick walked out of his bedroom weaving his tie into a slip knot. Dean and Mindy Bimms funerals had been scheduled on the same day, something he hadn't expected. Not that it mattered. Greg was back today and his month vacation began. He had some soul searching to do, a missing brother to get to know, a sister to find, and spare some time to get to know Dean's parents. And maybe, just maybe, in all of that, he'd find a way to forgive his own parents.

The doorbell rang as he reached the front room. He opened the door and almost audibly groaned to find Nicola Corbet on his doorstep. She was dressed in a black dress with a black and white floral belt and matching shoes. A wide brimmed hat, with a matching band around it, rested on her dark brown hair. She looked like she was on her way to a funeral too, not that he actually cared.

"What do you want, Nicola?"

Her mouth moved as she attempted to answer, and then she burst into tears. Nick stared at her. He wasn't sure how to react to this. She put her hands on her stomach and leaned against a wall. Then she vomited in the flowers by the door.

Nick couldn't remain dispassionate. They may be enemies, but he couldn't leave a woman standing on his doorstep who was clearly more an emotional wreck than he was. That wasn't how his parents raised him, and he liked to think that wasn't how Dean's parents raised him either.

He waited for her to finish, and then took her arm and led her into the kitchen. He got her a glass of water and a handful of napkins. She wiped her mouth, dabbed her eyes, and sipped the water before she even attempted to try speaking again.

"I'm…" She started crying again. She looked up at him from under her hat. "I look at you, and I miss my brother Dean even more."

Nick's knees went weak. He sank into a chair. Somehow he felt like he should have known all along that she was Dean's sister but it was only in hindsight that he was able to connect conversations or dropped hints.

"Dean's our brother?" he asked.

She nodded. "Nicola is my middle name. My full first name is Patricia. I guess our birth mother liked the names."

"I don't understand."

"He was Parker Nicholas before the adoption. My name is Patricia Nicola. And you're Nicholas Parker."

He sat back in the chair, staring at the table. "I guess she did."

Nicola's tears stopped and she sipped more water. Minutes passed that neither spoke.

"So where does that leave us?" she quietly asked.

"At a really strange crossroad."

She smiled. He reflected it when he noticed.

"What?" he asked.

"I was thinking about the last disagreement you and I had. Sometimes Dean met my clients. I realized this morning that every single person you were trying to put in jail, he didn't like. I remember he'd always say to me, 'Those scientists are right about this one, Peppermint. Cut 'em loose, they're a bad cookie.'"

"Peppermint?"

"That was his nickname for me. Peppermint Patty. Like on Snoopy."

Nick nodded. "What was his?"

"There never was one. Just Dean. He never once mentioned that our brother was a twin, Nick. When I saw you the first time in court, I thought it was strange, but I never thought you were his brother, or our brother." She reached out, laying a hand on Nick's hand. "I'm sorry I didn't, Nick. He wanted so bad to find you before he died."

"I wish we'd met too. But there's no turning back."

She put her hand back on the glass. "No. Dean isn't coming back. He annoyed the hell out of me, just like you do, but I loved my brother. There wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for him."

Nick laid a hand on her wrist. She looked up.

"You don't have to be without a brother, you just have to connect with the one you didn't know before today."

"We have a pretty nasty past, Nick."

"Yes. We do. If it's not too much to ask, maybe you could not take cases I'm representing. I'd offer to be the one to bend, but by the time I know you're taking a case, I'm already half way in. And can you honestly say those cases I've been on, that most of them were innocent people? That my work was really that flawed? Am I really that bad at my job?"

She smiled. "No. I just have to say that in court. Okay. I'll bend."

"Well, I have two funerals today, and I need to leave. The first one is an acquaintance, sort of. And then we'll meet at Dean's. Okay?"

"The acquaintance being a Jane Doe named Mindy Bimms?"

"How'd you know?"

"She's been the talk around town. Apparently she was well known by the police as Saint Bernadette, but no one ever knew her real name. Do you know the story of Saint Bernadette?"

Nick shook his head.

"She was a nun living in France in the mid-1800s. It's said she had visions of a small young lady who many believed was the Virgin Mary. She only lived to age 35. But the real surprise was that when they recovered her body thirty years later, it was incorrupt."

Nick grinned. "You're Catholic?"

"No. Catholic school. I did a paper on her."

"So by incorrupt you mean…"

"Perfect condition – like a soap mummy."

Nick smiled. "I thought so. I bet the area was high in alkali."

She nodded. "Yes. But that wasn't why. It was something else, you know."

He laughed a little. "Of course it was. She's a saint after all."

She laughed a little and then leaned forward and hugged Nick. "It is amazing how much you two are alike, Nick. It's hard seeing you and hearing him."

Nick hugged her back. "I'm sorry."

She started crying again. Nick moved his chair closer and held his newfound sister while she mourned.

#

Wendy walked into the room and stopped. It was the smallest room in the mortuary. The rest of the room was filled with empty chairs. At the front was the casket. It was the cheapest they had, discounted more after Robbins got a hold of the director. She'd found a minister willing to do the ceremony for free. Ecklie had pushed the paperwork through to get her a free city plot in the cemetery. Even with the help, the small funeral was three thousand dollars. She was stunned when she went in to pay for it and discovered she only had three hundred left. The director said donations came in to cover the rest, including from his own pocket. All these little gestures still didn't make Wendy happy. She wanted Mindy to have her real name for her funeral. If she had family out there, she wanted them to be here.

She drew in a deep breath and walked down the aisle to a chair in the front. She looked at her watch. The funeral didn't start for another fifteen minutes. Wendy sat her purse down and walked up to the casket. The top half was open. It was like looking in a mirror. She'd chosen her favorite dress to bury Mindy and given the mortician a picture of her to style her hair and makeup. Was she going to look like this when she died? Or would she be a graying old woman?

"I'm sorry, Mindy," Wendy told her. "I'm sorry I couldn't find out who you were."

She started when Hodges appeared next to her. He was wearing his suit that made him look like a handsome movie spy.

"Saying your good-byes?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling. The tears started falling and she leaned into his arms.

"I brought some friends," Hodges told her.

She looked up. The Wall Crew and other people were filling the small room. The people were clean now, but she could tell they were the homeless people from the alley. She was so stunned that she didn't notice Hodges was guiding her back to her chair. He turned her and gently pushed on her shoulders to sit her down. She looked up at him.

"You shouldn't have asked all these people to come," she whispered.

He sat down and leaned close. "I didn't. These are all friends of Mindy Bimms. And the Wall Crew came for you, Wendy. Did you really think we would let one of the Crew go through something like this alone?"

The minister came through a side door. "Are we ready to begin?" he asked her.

Wendy nodded. She reached over and took Hodges' hand. He gently pressed her hand between his, an unspoken assurance that he would always be there for her.


End file.
